Condolences
by slacktension
Summary: Lin and Mako's relationship while working on the police force together.


Mist hits Lin's face in the crisp fall air, freezing like pinpricks of needles catching against her skin. It wafts over the street on a harsh breeze, where the waterbending force is trying to tame a fire hydrant a moving van demolished moments earlier. It spits a cold puddle of water over the black asphalt where countless numbers of flowers lay scattered, stems broken, petals mangled and colors turned murky under fast footsteps. Right by her, a flower shop has a motorcycle where a front window should be, and a fire simmers on a window box full of baby's breath.

It's a hell hole. Her officers, civilians, and criminals all move around her like street grit swept up in the current of a storm drain. They swirl and pool against the damage in the street, while she remains steadfast, letting the scene wash over her. The sky overhead is grey, the mist mingles in the air with the cindered heads of baby's breath flowers, and when she turns to survey the fires, they are dying.

Officer Mako, sitting on the checkered floor inside of the shop where the EMTs fuss over him, is lowering his outstretched arms towards his stomach. The shop owners _ohh_ and _ahh_ and talk to him with kind smiles.

Lin steps inside over flowers and crunching glass, hands fisted on her hips where the metal of her uniform is frigid against her knuckles. Mako tips his head up even though a healer is trying to wrap a bandage around it; a halo for the savior of the shop.

"Officer Mako, a word?" she says.

He brushes off the healers who try to force him back down by tucking the end of the gauze around his head in himself. She watches him pull away from the people in the shop, waving, small smiles, _this is how you be polite_, while she taps her foot on the ground. Finally, he turns away from them and his face is expressionless. Just before she moves to lead the way out of the shop, she sees him start to tug the gauze free from his head.

By the time they are across the street, standing behind the fire hydrant to block away the mist, he has the gauze rolled up in his hand. The gash on his temple beads with blood.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she asks.

Mako bristles by breathing in, a small lift of his chest and shoulders, but his face remains unyielding to emotion. He is in tight control. What's worse is, he does not say anything.

"I'd like you to explain yourself, Officer, or would you rather let the crime scene speak for itself?" She gestures a sharp, flat hand out at the shop.

His eyes do not follow it. "I tried my hardest to apprehend the criminals without any damage, and it didn't work. I'm sorry."

He speaks with a stilted slowness, throat choking on the word _apprehend_ like a gummy rice ball. He's trying his hardest right now. Lin knows that but sympathy can't cloud the fact that she has a city to protect.

"Try harder," she says. "Your motorcycle through the window of a flower shop is not something you can smooth over with _I'm sorry_."

His mouth opens with the promise of another, _I'm sorry_, but shuts before the words tumble out.

"You have to pay for the repairs to your vehicle," she says, and he nods. "And you -"

"Excuse me?"

They both turn to find an older woman, about Lin's age, standing near them with her arm in a sling. The pale green apron tied to her front means that she is from the flower shop; her broken arm is masked in the sling by a bouquet of flowers. She has bright green eyes and curled black hair.

"Sorry, I just wanted to thank you for protecting our shop before I go to the hospital," she says, and hands him the flowers.

Mako's eyes dart between Lin's and the woman's, hands flying up to deny the gift. "No, really, I don't -"

"I know you must be embarrassed because of the window," she laughs. "But you're a hero! Here, honey, take them for the holiday. Mothers love marigolds, after all."

His hands close around the stems and he _bows_, something he must have picked up from Korra. Lin rolls her eyes as the woman thanks him again, because this hero worship is the last thing a rookie making mistakes needs. Lin has been planning to stomp it out since day one. He has been a pro-bender, after all, and dating the Avatar - he is headed towards losing his job if his ego gets in the way.

The woman walks off and Lin jumps right in, moving to snap Mako out of gently thumbing the marigolds that he has cradled in his arm like a baby.

"Don't let that woman fool you into thinking you've done a good job," she says, and he nods. "This is a mess. This will cost thousands of yuans to fix. We don't need two reckless heroes in the city, so don't let it happen again."

Lin knows it is a low blow to bring up Korra, but she needs something to jar him. It works: his eyebrows lower and his eyes are narrowed, mouth tightening, and when he nods, it is flippant.

"Yes, Chief."

"Good. Get back to the healers, blood is about to stain your uniform."

He looks bewildered at the thought, tapping the side of his face for the blood that has trickled down it. She expects him to stem the flow with his gloved hand, to keep it from marring the scarf - _is this ok to wear with my uniform, really? even when I'm on duty?_ - but instead he picks up a tattered end and presses it to the gash before jogging across the street.

She watches him disappear back into the shop. He melts into the scene with all of the dying flowers and cinders trying to burn through mist, becoming saturated with water, and dropping to the street. The ambulance is loaded with two Triad members and the flower shop woman, and drives past Lin. At her side, another Triad member is being wrestled out of the van he had crashed, handcuffs clinking onto his wrists.

She sees the employees of the shop stumble outside; all of them with green eyes and black hair. A younger man in a green apron walks across the street with a bundle of marigolds in his arms.

"Chief Beifong," he says, grin stretched wide and cheeks red with adrenaline from all the excitement. "Thanks so much for all your help. Here, these are for you."

He tries to hand her the flowers and Lin keeps her arms crossed over her stomach. She packs up half of her annoyance with her officer and tries for a polite smile. "I'm only doing my job," she says.

"No, no, my mother insists," he says. "Please. At least take them for Mother's Day."

She can feel her face frosting over, the dusting of water still clinging to her skin hardening, cracking into her bones as she remembers that she should pull her smile wider. It is a practiced motion that comes from large funeral ceremonies where condolences reach her in quick succession for hours, where her strong handshake turned limp so as to not offend the people who ended up offending her.

Lin goes through the motions: her hands close around the stems with a thank you and a nod.

The young man leaves to give a police statement, and she holds the flowers towards the ground, both her hands clasped around the stems. The pose makes her feel young and idiotic, but she cannot find reason to snap out of it.

Across the street, an elderly woman in a green apron fawns over Mako. She keeps gesturing to the flowers and Lin watches as his smile crisps up with orange embers eating at the edges of his face, greying with ash. He becomes stiff and in the grey of his uniform jacket, he is brittle.

Lin looks back down at the flowers in her hands and wrinkles her nose. She tucks them under her arm against her hip and moves into the middle of the street to start barking orders to get the messes she can control back into order.

—-

Lin's desk is professional; clear of any distractions, of the small toys that had adorned the desks of beloved uncles back at City Hall or on Air Temple Island. It is the same desk her mother sat at years ago, with only minor changes - Lin swipes it clean of muddy fingerprints more than her mother ever did, letting the black metal shine. There is a lamp, a calendar, pens, and a name tag.

She hunches over the desk and tries to finish up her paperwork, but the picture frame stuck in the false drawer haunts her each time she shuts her eyes to think, and ends up tapping her foot instead.

With a flick of her wrist the drawer reveals itself. Her mother used to keep confiscated liquor in there to bring to Uncle Sokka, along with small trinkets that served as sweet reminders like family photographs do to some. An egg shaped drop of jade was for Lin, a swatch of scratchy blue wool for Aunt Katara, a patch of stiff leather for her father - things her mother could run her thumb over and remember her family. Lin keeps a handful of photographs, but the only one framed is one of Toph.

She does not pull it out. She cranes her neck to peer inside, because a quick glance is all she needs. Her mother's eyes always looked eery in photographs.

The drawer shuts and Lin realizes her office is too distracting. She packs up her things, sheds the uniform for a trenchcoat, and shuffles her papers into a manilla folder. Her pens are placed back in order and tipped to the right angles, and everything is just where it needs to be.

Sitting upright in the chair across from her desk is the bouquet of marigolds.

Lin purses her lips and _really, Uncle Zuko, did you have to make Mother's Day such a big deal so that everyone celebrates it with flaming marigolds?_

She takes them on her way out the door, and the stems are covered in little silver hairs that brush against her rough hands, tough with strong fibers so she can grip hard and they won't break.

At the front desk, she nods her head to the officers working there, and finds a free spot to finish up her paperwork. The bouquet lies on the desk by her side but she finds it so much easier to ignore than the distractions that had been in her office. Other people bustle around and file away their last work before the holiday tomorrow, those people with families who requested the day off to celebrate their mothers and wives and daughters. People like her are content behind their metal desks to box them in from awkward questions like _what are you doing for Mother's Day?_

When she finishes her work, she taps the papers into order, eyes scanning the front lobby as people walk in and out.

Red and burnt orange catch her eye as Mako walks into the lobby. His marigolds are still with him, tucked against his arm and cradled close to his chest under the loose loop of his scarf. A few fellow officers say hello, but he keeps his mouth in a tight line when they wish him a _Happy Mother's Day_ and he only nods.

Lin watches him disappear out the front doors, and she decides that as long as she's getting off early, she might as well visit her mother.

—-

Republic City Cemetery sprawls across the middle of the city, spanning from one Yue Bay inlet, over a bridge, and onto the next. The older side of the cemetery is cramped with graves, so it looks impossible to walk around without tripping over a headstone. Years ago it used to be an honor to be buried there among the legends of the Hundred Years War, but now the stretch across the bridge has cleaner rolling hills. The privilege to be able to afford the newer half of the cemetery is now of greater worth than honor.

Lin travels the graveled path to her mother's grave, cutting across the grass to get there quicker, browned leaves crunching under her feet. The simple, white marble headstone is tall and roughly cut, situated at the lowest dip in a valley between two hills. Because of her family's wealth, there is more space around the grave. Most of it has been taken up by more flowers and interesting rocks left there by visitors on historical tours.

Her mother's remains are not even hidden away in the ashes chamber at the grave. A few have been dusted over the earth there, but the grave is meant more as a monument for the family left in the city - it is there for Lin's benefit alone.

She crouches down and attempts to keep her knees from digging into the soft, wet earth, but gives up when the pain in her ankles burns too much. Muddied water seeps into her pants as she kneels before the grave, brushing away the flowers and gifts left behind to clean it. She keeps her mother's life organized.

"This is just like when you were around," Lin says out loud. Tenzin taught her the practice and it is the only one of his lessons she keeps anymore. "Your paperwork would flood the kitchen table and desk and I would stack it away for you. Can't you keep anything in order?"

Her mother had a high pitched, girlish laugh, no matter how many times she tried to lower her voice to distance herself from _small, fragile, doll-like_. It rings around Lin's head.

She washes a cup of water over the stone to clean it. She smudges her thumb into the dirt and bird droppings left on the face near her mother's name, cleaning her hands by rubbing them over the wet grass like a towel. The white stone shines in the dull, overcast light of the sky, turning the faintest yellow under the cream orange of the masked sunset. The only item filling the ashes box is the jade pendant her mother kept in the false drawer back at the station.

Lin places the bouquet before the grave, propping it up against the side so it doesn't just lie there, as if she dropped them carelessly.

"I know you don't care for flowers that smell bad," Lin says. "But they were free and Uncle Zuko started the damn tradition, so just be grateful that you're getting anything at all."

_And here is where Mom says, I don't give a shit about Mother's Day, but thank you_.

"I figured I should at least pay a visit today, since I'm not taking tomorrow off. You never did, so I don't see why I should," she says. "And I should mention that everything is fine. The city is fine. I'm fine."

Somewhere, her mother might nod and say, _that's good to hear_.

And Lin knows that if her mother caught her running her fingers over the markings of her name, breaking brittle leaves between her hands, and tapping her fingernails against the golden badge, Toph would stuff her into a hug. No words would be necessary because they never were in the past. All it takes is a few sagging shoulders, heavy under the weight of a legacy and things left behind, and muscled arms would squeeze Lin back into the right shape.

Lin sighs and smiles before standing.

—-

Lin wanders around the cemetery because she has an apartment to return home to with no food in it. It would be acceptable to drop in on Tenzin for dinner, because she wants company, not food, but she ignores the idea. It would be rude.

Instead she looks at the names on the graves, watching them slip from many characters carved into the faces of stone to only one or two, for those too poor for surnames. They are Arnak or Mei Ling or Shui, simple characters pounded in with no artful scrawl. Some are already smoothing over from age and poor crafting, and Lin could fix their legacies easily with a fingernail scraping the names clean. Their children are either dead or have forgotten them.

It is easy to spot the parents of dutiful children. The graves are cleared of pulpy wet leaves and stains rolling down rough headstones. Flowers are planted among the plots, small flags denoting war heroes, metal anchor pendants for navy men and brass flames for firebenders. Grandchildren leave small sculptures and sunbleached drawings tucked under rocks dug up from the earth. The ashes in the graves are not just dust and blackened teeth, but people with the weight of a stuffed clay urn trapped inside the ribcages of the family they left behind.

Families visit on holidays or weekends, during a late afternoon with grandchildren, coming to visit the graves of grandparents they never met. Lin visits after late shifts whenever she feels like it, because she tends to her mother's legacy every day at work. It sinks on her chest in plates of black metal.

At the crest of a hill she can see the sprawl off the cemetery around her, all grey and brown with the death of late fall. The grass is still clinging onto fresh green life but tinges at the edges with the crunch of straw.

Down in the valley of another hill, off to her right, is a flare of burnt orange and red that fights against the dead.

Mako sits in a tight row of graves, situated in a gap between two headstones. He stands his bouquet of marigolds against the left grave with meticulous care, fingers plucking away the broken, wilting buds that did not last while stuffed in his locker at the station. She would have missed him completely if not for the pulsing red of his scarf against the sooty line of his shoulders. From her spot on the hill, his voice carries on the cutting breeze, turning it summery with soft warmth.

"I got these for free, but not in the usual way this time," he says with a chuckle masked by the wind. "Bolin and I are still coming tomorrow, before we go to the Air Temple. Tenzin invited us to celebrate Mother's Day there, so I hope you don't mind that I split the flowers. Half are going to Pema. Along with some yuans to pay for all the meals she's made us. You'd like her, Mom."

He pauses, and his shoulders lift slowly under the impossible weight of his scarf, his sigh catching somewhere in his throat. He sags and hunches over, all mimicry of good posture melting into a back too beaten to belong to a teenager.

"It's nice to visit you alone, sometimes."

Lin crosses her arms against the breeze and turns around, blocking out his voice and giving him privacy.

She has not taken to treating him like anything beyond one of her officers, even if they have sat at the same table together countless times. He has stayed at the peripherals of her vision, and only the blurred details have ever reached her. Korra thinks the world of him. Tenzin likes him. He has a criminal record that nearly cost him acceptance on the force, and his face has been in the paper for pro-bending.

Now Lin notices that he's thin - built, but thin, with the kind of ropey muscle gained from too many fights and too little food.

She stays up on the hill and waits, tapping her foot. She should let him be, he is technically a grown man by now, but something nags at the back of her head. He's young and he makes mistakes, and he has to find a mother to celebrate the holidays with. He only has a blocky rock with a name to serve as his mother.

Lin has no idea what she expects to do once he stands to leave; she just knows that she should do something, since they are the only two people there.

When she turns around and finds him standing up, brushing the awkward water patches and dead grass off the seat of his coat, she makes her way down the hill towards him. It is the polite thing to do, and even if her mother rarely followed the high class manners she was raised with, she still expected Lin to know and follow them as she chose. Just a quick hello, and an offer to give him a ride back home.

"Officer Mako," she says.

He jumps and turns, body tensed with shock before sinking just a slightest bit into ease. "Oh, hi, Chief Beifong."

She nods, and realizes she has nothing else to say. They are standing right before the graves of his parents and she can feel the stones sink into the earth, aware of their presence like a nail driving into skin. She can see that they are well cared for and made out of the cheapest materials. The only decoration is the flowers, and a few delicate, poorly sculpted animal figurines - mostly fire ferrets, made of brick.

He clears his throat and her eyes land on him.

"Visiting someone?" he asks.

She nods tersely because she understands this line of questioning. It is a formality, the kind of questions one receives during anniversaries and funerals. "My mother," she says, and nods towards the graves. "And you?" she asks, to throw it back on him.

"Same," he says, inching his body towards the graves, eyeing them for a moment as if to check that they were still there.

She watches him cross his arms tightly over his chest, pulling at the old seams on his coat, hunching over to protect his center like he is expecting a sucker punch to the gut. His eyes flicker and his muscles shift under the thin fabrics. It is taking all of his willpower to not bounce on his heels and make a break for it.

He is better than this. She has seen him be frank on more than one occasion, and this willowy shadow of a boy is not who she wants to see with a golden badge pinned to his front.

"Are you taking tomorrow off?" she asks.

He lifts his head, eyes wide at the question, because it is not the usual eggshell thin small talk found in cemeteries. "Uh, no, I'm not. Are you?"

"No. I see no reason for it."

He blinks and his eyes shift over her face, to her crossed arms, to her badge. The world does not have a prewritten list of polite responses to a person that doesn't want pity. He has seen enough loss to understand that, and Lin wants him to prove it. Instead, he remains silent.

"Officer Mako, there is no need to treat this meeting like a funeral," she spits. "My mother has been dead for years and your attempt at pity is poor and unwarranted."

He unravels. His arms lift apart and he raises his head, and this is what Lin is good at: shocking people from the ground up so they have none to stand on. She gives him the option of settling back to solid ground that he can dig his heels into, stand up straight with his knotted shoulders squared, act like the young man that can call himself a fighter. That, or she will watch him dance above the earth like the ember of a fire floating higher and higher into the foggy air before burning out, and falling back soggy and black.

His mouth closes and sets in a tight line, but he is trying his hardest to keep his expression passive. "I was just being polite."

"It's been eleven years; I'm tired of politeness."

The self control he clings to flares up and leaves a deep smudge of black eyebrows low over his eyes, the edges of his lips turning white. His arms are tensed by his sides and his fingers clench until they pop with habit. "Sorry, Chief, I was just trying to say something I would've liked to hear."

His response buzzes like a snap of static across the back of her neck. The complete change from timid to spitting fire is not what she expected, because she knows that he clings to control and grapples for it whenever he can. The sudden flare to biting anger, and his expression, makes it easier for her to explain the motorcycle crash earlier.

Lin feels the realization hit her, that he has a pair of cheap graves to attend to with gifted marigolds and sculptures made by a younger brother, while she has to push away gifts from strangers brimming with pity.

She slacks her ramrod posture and lets her face smooth over, giving him a small smile. He is all hunched shoulders and wary looks.

"You want a ride back home?" she asks.

—-

Gravel crunches under her boots in loud, snapping pops, while Mako's tread is light under the soft rubber soles of his canvas shoes. He keeps up with her fast pace with ease, letting his eyes wander over the passing gravestones as they travel the winding paths. He doesn't press for conversation and for that she is thankful. He is still cautious enough to not force small talk, and lets her guide the conversation.

"I hear Katara is coming to the Air Temple for tomorrow," Lin says.

He nods. "Yeah. There's going to be a big dinner - Tenzin said you're more than welcome to come."

She hums and keeps her hands in her pockets, surging forward. After no other response comes his way, he clears his throat.

"Tenzin said there would be some ceremony," he says, teeth and tongue sticking at the ends of each word. "For any mother's that aren't with us anymore."

She wants to say, _Tenzin can keep his Air Nomad rituals on his island, because I've never asked for them_, but she knows better. She imagines a funeral attended by two boys and a social worker in their charge, and realizes that a ritual with incense and burning flowers is more than he has ever had. She knows that Tenzin completes the ceremony for Toph every year anyway, even though years ago Lin angrily told him to stop, and never attended another Air Nomad ritual again.

It could be the time to let go.

"I might drop by," she says. "To say hello to Katara."

"I think Tenzin would like that."

At the large, wrought iron gate, he quickens his steps and tugs it open for her. She only raises an eyebrow and slightly roll her eyes, scoffing as she walks out. She hears a quiet chuckle behind her as they walk down the sidewalk to her cruiser. He skirts around her again to reach the driver's side door, holding it open.

She crosses her arms over her chest, lips pursed. He frowns slightly, because this is how a good young man is supposed to behave, right? She just wonders where he learned these manners.

"What?" he blurts.

She shakes her head and steps into the car. "Nothing. Shut the door and get in.

He hesitates before closing the door behind her. Walking around the front of the car, he freezes at the passenger's side door. He stands there, leaning over to look through the car window at her, and motions with his finger to roll the window down. She does and glares at him for stalling.

"I don't need a ride," he says, jerking his thumb down the street. "I can walk, it's fine."

She lifts her hand, stretching her fingers until the lock snaps into place, and the door breaths open with a click.

"Get in the car, Mako."

He breathes out a tight sigh, straightening to look up and down the road. She knows those flickering glances of habit in the kids she lifts from the streets, where every space can become a cage and every cage needs a means of escape, and she has just boxed him in.

The door opens and Mako folds himself into the passenger's seat. The leather whines under the awkward shifts of his body as he struggles to slip into the illusion of comfort, pressing his back into the cushions, trying to rest his arms in a natural way only to give up and clasp them between his knees. It occurs to her that maybe this is the way he is accustomed to sitting in a police cruiser and she bites the tip of her tongue.

"Thanks," he says, eyes locked on the stretch of road before them.

She turns the key and the car sputters and coughs into life. "Don't mention it."

The cold, thick fog slips into the cabin as Mako rolls the window back up when she starts driving. It layers around their necks like a heavy iron collar, making it difficult to breathe, and Lin expects a silent ride down to the harbor.

But Mako slouches his shoulders and his fight with the space around them ends.

"Should I tell Tenzin that you're coming tomorrow?" he asks.

She laughs once, and rolls her eyes as she drives toward the pro-bending arena. "Sure."


End file.
